


Tethered

by LovelyMelody



Category: Labyrinth (1986), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Faeries - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Magic, Mentions of Blood, Supernatural - Freeform, The Goblin City (Labyrinth), Witch!Reader, Witches, fae!steve, mentions of the script of the Labyrinth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27338692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyMelody/pseuds/LovelyMelody
Summary: You’ve been told the stories of the fae, of your ancestors and their greed for power; now, centuries later the children of the fae—witches—and all supernatural beings live in peace, the dark history of your world is no more than a memory. But things are about to change with your ascension, and you best be prepared because fate will not be kind to you or those around you.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Kudos: 9





	1. ad initio

**Author's Note:**

> playlist

You don’t know where this is or why this is where your mind takes you—it’s just dense darkness all around you, nothing like the elaborate spaces your classmates gloated about. Are you not concentrating enough in the physical world? Or did you recite the incantation incorrectly? No. That can’t be it. If you had, Tony would have had you redo it.

Should you move forward? Or stay?—Everyone that’s shared their experience said they walked deeper into their  _ mind’s eye  _ to find their space. 

It wouldn’t hurt to try.

Taking a tentative step forward, you feel out the footing—remembering how a classmate of yours had endless staircases that led him to all kinds of twists and turns. Yours could lead to nowhere or straight out of your  _ mind’s eye _ —something you definitely do not want. You try to reach out with your hands, to grasp something— _ anything _ . But all you get is the darkness around you.

Frustration grips you with every slow step you take—it’s taking too long! Would Tony notice if you were lying about connecting with your  _ mind’s eye _ and ascending? Yes. Yes, he would. He’d be a terrible guardian and Professor otherwise.

You don’t know for how long you walk, but when you feel a gust of air, you pause, only for a moment. Where is that wind coming from? You keep walking, eyes straining to pick out something—light, shimmer,  _ something.  _ The air whistles around you and through the rustling branches; leaves crunch under your feet; rays of warmth settle on your skin; and the sweet and dewy scent of flowers tickle your nose.

There’s a voice, soft and low—accompanied by the gentle sounds of a music box you had once thought a dream—it fills your chest with warmth and your fingers tingle with a strange heat. “ _ There's such a sad love deep in your eyes, a kind of pale jewel, opened and closed within your eyes, I'll place the sky within your eyes… _ ”

_ Hello? _

There’s a snap, the music and singing coming to a complete halt, the heat you felt simmering. The singer speaks after a pause, disbelief in his voice—that is just as pleasant as his singing.  _ (It’s you. You’re… you’re really here.)  _

_ Who are you? _ you can’t help but ask. Whoever this is—or was—is a figment of your imagination, a piece of your mind’s eye. It isn’t a physical being, but it’s definitely something that’s yours and yours only, and because it’s yours, you want to know what form it’s taken. Your grandfather? Tony? No, they sound nothing alike.

Then who?

( _ Do you not remember me? _ ) It echoes in the darkness, rustling the leaves harder, the whipping of air tousling your clothes and hair.

His voice is familiar, gripping at your heartstrings and threatening to loosen the hold you’ve strengthened over the years.  _ I don’t. Should I remember you? _

Hot air seeps into your head, swirling and moving around your brain—caressing it almost. This feeling… Is this—could it be? Magic? But it’s not yours…  _ Who  _ and  _ what _ is he to summon magic in your mind’s eye? ( _ Was it their will or yours? _ )

The longer you take to answer, the hotter and stronger it gets and it sends a shiver up and down your spine. It’s pulling at the seams of your mind, tugging and ripping to get an answer and it  _ hurts _ .  _ You’re hurting me! _

A voice you can barely make out breaks the magical hold on you. You lax, falling onto your knees, hands barely catching your upper body from hitting the ground—wet and ticklish beneath your skin. 

( _ It was theirs.)  _ He comes to the conclusion, his voice softer than before—sad? You don’t understand why you get the sudden urge to reach for him, to find him and hold him even after he’s hurt you with his magic. But the desperation in his voice is enough to trigger something within you.

You hear that voice again—startling you from crawling forward—closer than before calling you—star? No. It’s calling you Starlight.  _ Tony? _

( _ Again, they keep you from me.) _

“...light!”

_ Again? What do you mean again? _

You ignore Tony’s voice, eyes straining in the darkness to catch a glimpse of the sad voice.  _ Who are you? _ you try to sound demanding, but the hold you have on this world keeps shattering with every call of your name and it fills you with fear and sadness. 

“Starlight!”

With Tony’s final call, your mind’s eye shatters. The darkness breaks into pieces glittering against the newfound light, brushing against your skin and blowing into your eyes. You grow drowsy, and for one moment, there is golden hair and baby blues catching in the sunlight and burning brighter than any fire you’ve seen. His lips curl into a frown and his voice echoes in the space once more, it takes over every thought, your body laxing and eyes drifting even further. “ _ I'll be there for you as the world falls down _ .”

* * *

“Starlight! Come back, Starlight!”

Your burning eyes fly open as you awake with a harsh gasp of air, body jerking forward into a seated position. Your stomach twisting and turning—ears buzzing with white noise. “Tone—Tony?”

The bright light of the early afternoon is harsh against your eyes, and as your eyes slowly clear, a blurry Tony stands before you.

He’s disheveled, hands gripping your shoulder—squeezing tightly enough for you to wince—a worried expression on his face. Something—something about him is wrong—what—what is it?

He lets out a relieved sigh when your clouded eyes meet his, and he slowly releases you. “You all right kid?”

Cre _ aaaa _ k. Creak. Cre _ aaaaa _ k.

Your heart sinks to your stomach as your eyes take in the greenhouse—your grandmother’s greenhouse—completely destroyed. A couple of potted ferns hanging from the ceiling swing back and forth precariously; hand crafted pots lying on the ground, dirt and clay covering the wooden floors; massacred flowers and torn petals scattered and dumped; Beautiful, old English windows shattered, a few missing from their pane; melting snow dripping down from the broken pieces of ceiling and windows—what is all this? What happened here?

“Starlight?” He calls for you once more, taking your face in his hands and forcing you to look at him. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, we can fix this—“

Ruby red trails down from a harsh cut slanted on his left cheekbone, dirt clings to his face and clothes, his voice almost out of breath as he tries to reassure you—wait. Did—did you do this? 

“Tony?” You whimper unsurely, fear gripping at your heart and pulling it down to your stomach—the wind picks up again, the chimes and few pots still hanging from the ceilings creak and swing faster.

“Mr. Stark! Miss!” 

It’s a continuous call followed by thundering footsteps coming from the main house. Tony barely pays them any attention, he keeps it all on you, too afraid to look away from you as if you could disappear at any moment.

He swipes at his cheek, smiling gently down at you, but the blood reappears and continues to track down his dirtied face. “I’m okay. It was just an accident, okay? This isn’t your fault. It was mine—“

“Mr. Stark, the ward,” Vision interrupts your uncle, android expressionless but somehow still expressing a wave of concern with his voice.

“We heard an explosion and tried strengthening it, but something is blocking us from,” Happy pauses mid sentence with wide eyes, “— _ woah _ , what the hell happened here?”

“Shit!” Tony exclaims in frustration. 

You wrap your arms around you, and a sob escapes your lips just as a crackle booms overhead.

“Mr. Stark,” Happy drawls, wide eyes full of worry shifting from the two of you and to the destroyed ceiling of the greenhouse.

Tony’s quick to turn his attention back to you. “Starlight, listen to me,” he begins in an uncharacteristically soft voice, “none of this is your fault, okay?” He grabs your shoulders, shaking you gently. “I forced you to ascend when I knew there were risks.” But you knew the risks too, and you still chose to do it! “I know you’re scared. Everyone is when they first ascend, but I need you to trust me one more time, okay? Hey! Look at me! I need your help to restore the ward—“

“I can’t,” you fret, rocking back on your heels.

“Yes—yes, you can,” he says, growing more desperate. 

“What if I do more than destroy the greenhouse?” The air cuts through the space around you, Happy and Vision have to duck and hide under the still intact table in the middle of the room. But Tony stays firmly in front of you, never wavering. “What if—What If I kill you, Tony? I already hurt you!”

Ascensions shouldn’t be  _ this _ destructful! You shouldn’t have caused  _ any _ of this! It shouldn’t be possible!

Tony’s mouth hangs open, ready to argue, but a sudden calm falling over the greenhouse stops him, Electric currents fill the room, trickling in from the outside with gentle sparks that land on your skin. The tiny hairs on your arm stand before the warm energy completely dissipates into the air. “Fuck,” he murmurs, and for the first time since you woke up from your ascension, he turns his back on you, pushing you behind him. 

“What in bloody hell are you doing!?” A strong voice booms in the greenhouse and Vision and Happy finally poke their heads out from under the table before scrambling—on Happy’s part, mostly—to their feet. 

“Aunt Peggy—“

“Don’t you Aunt Peggy me, young man!” You flinch at the volume of her voice. “The amount of energy—it’s unbelievable! What did you do?”

You step out from behind Tony, eyes never raising and instead focusing on your hands. “I’m sorry. I—I asked Tony to teach me how to connect with my mind’s eye—“

She sighs deeply through her nose. “Please tell me you didn't—Tony!“

“Starlight’s lying, Aunt Peggy.” he says, once more blocking you from her—most likely—harsh gaze. “I made her do it.”

“I don’t care who is at fault!” Peggy snaps. “Do you have any idea the effort Fury and I had to go through to hide your little experiment from the other council members when we realized it was coming from this general vicinity? Pierce almost pinpointed where it came from!” You grimace, the thought of that old man showing up at your doorstep with his unnerving smile unsettling you.

A pot creaks and the air crackles with an icy sharpness as it falls to the floor with a loud bang. Tony’s head snaps to you, you jump, and Peggy remains calm, her seething stare remaining on you and Tony, but you ignore them. Harsh tapping steals your attention; a white owl banging at the glass window with its long wings, blue eyes so piercing and somehow… familiar seem to stare right through you.

Do owls usually have blue eyes?

Vision clears his throat and the owl, with one final flap of its wings, flies away in a flurry, and just as it’s gone, the owl pushed from your mind. 

“I am terribly sorry to interrupt.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Why don’t you have this conversation inside with a cup of tea? I am afraid it may be too dangerous to stay here any longer.”

* * *

“We must send her away! Her ascension—“

“No.”

They’ve been at it since you entered the house, neither of them willing to back down, both making their case and argument loud and clear—completely ignoring the fact that you, Vision, and Happy are in the same room.

“Drink well, Miss,” he advises. “Do not let their fighting affect you.”

Easier said than done, but his words are kind and you do relax, if only a smidge. “Thank you, Vision.”

“She has become unpredictable, Anthony.” You wish she wouldn’t talk about you as if you aren’t in the room—it makes you feel as if your opinion in all of this doesn’t matter. And maybe to her it doesn’t, but to Tony? It does. “Be reasonable for once! We know what Pierce does when he finds a strong magic user,  _ you _ will be in put on trial and in danger and—“

A loud slam causes you to startle and for Happy to almost drop his cup of tea. Vision remains unaffected as he pours you more of his homemade brew—a completely configured version of the one your grandma used to make.

Tony is standing, eyes leveling Margaret’s harsh gaze. “That is enough, Aunt Peggy!”

“You will not raise your voice at me, Anthony Edward Stark!” A hand rests on her hips as a finger is pointed at him dangerously. “I may be your godmother, but I am still a member of the Council and your elder and you  _ will _ treat me with respect.”

Her calculating gaze falls on you, brown eyes rich with knowledge and something else—contempt. Since you were a child, you’ve known that she’s never really cared much for you or your mother. You don’t blame her, your mother wasn’t exactly friendly with her and after witnessing what you did to the greenhouse and Tony, you’d be wary of yourself, too.

He steps in front of her, blocking her gaze from you. “If you do anything to Starlight, I swear to you—“

“Tony!” you interject, hopping to your feet and stopping him from saying something he will regret later on. “If she thinks it’s—“

Tony snaps his neck to look at you. Brown eyes rich with anger and worry take in your hunched form and soften. He turns his back to Margaret and in quick strides he comes to a stop in front of you. “You don’t need to go anywhere,” he promises, resting his hand on your shoulder. “I promised to protect you, didn’t I?”

A flash of a younger you and Tony comes to mind—tear stricken you curled up against Tony as he held you tightly, words of comfort shared under a canopy of stars against a dark sky that never seemed to die. “Yeah.”

“And I’m going to keep that promise, okay?”

You nod, feeling a huge weight being lifted from your shoulders at the determination in his voice. Just like back then, you believe him. He would do everything in his power to protect you.

Margaret scoffs. “Protect her? You can barely protect yourself, Anthony!”

Tony rolls his eyes and tilts his head just slightly towards her figure. He’s trying to make you laugh. It almost works.

“May I remind you that  _ I  _ had to strengthen the ward because you couldn’t? She isn’t even of your blood!”

Your heart drops to your stomach, hands gripping the ends of your clothes tightly, practically ripping it. She’s right. You don’t share any blood with Tony, not paternally or maternally, but that doesn’t take away from the fact your mother was his sister, that your mother was your grandparents daughter.

Now she’s being cruel just to be cruel.

And Tony doesn't like that, he stands straight, eyes cutting over his shoulder to look at her. “Neither are you and here you are trying to control us.”  Her face falls, looking stricken by the blow redirected back at her, but she straightens, face growing stoic as Tony continues, “You didn’t give me time to try and fix the barrier. We could’ve done it.”

“Time is not a luxury we have,” Margaret scolds, walking towards the mantle of the fireplace littered with photos of when Tony and your mother were children, and some of you, too. “Your father and Prim were unaware of the power held within  _ your _ Starlight, and they wanted it to remain that way from everyone,” she says, sharp and unmoving, brown eyes returning to Tony. “Including us.  _ Especially  _ us.”

“Ascending is already a danger all of its own, Aunt Peggy,” he argues. “If I hadn’t helped her, the rest of the Council and the university would have forced her and the rest of the hand few Untapped to do so during the Spring Solstice festivities,” his voice is pleading for her to understand, the fight having left him. “We both know that would’ve been much more dangerous.”

You know he means to say for you… but after seeing what you did earlier just by ascending, how in a moment your powers allowed your emotions to rule them… everyone at the Solstice would have been in danger because of you. 

“We could have made something up, child. Freyja has been making charms to cover the fact she hadn’t ascended—it takes years and then some, even with her expertise—“ she pauses, wrinkled face contorting into a grimace. “Her ascension was never meant to happen, Anthony. And you know that.” Her eyes pierce into you, your breath shortening as she asks, “Don’t you?”

“I—“ You do. You do know. You should’ve fought Tony when he said he would help you ascend, but having heard so many stories from old and new classmates and their experiences, you were growing envious that you’d never have that chance for yourself. You wanted to feel what they felt, but you should have known. Should have known that your mother was correct when she warned you it would be too dangerous for you—for everyone.

He moves to stand in her line of vision again, contact being severed between the two of you. “Stop intimidating her.”

“I was only asking a question to which she knows the answer to.”

“I need you to trust me, Aunt Peggy. If only we could find their journals and research all their studies—“

Studies? What studies?

What are they talking about?

She meets your gaze over his shoulder, sighing heavily as she looks away. “Let’s not speak about such… such matters in front of her.”

His back muscles tense for a moment, but then he’s relaxing and sighing, head hanging. “I need to protect her.”

It's quiet, neither of them speaking; Happy comically looking between his boss and the Council member, waiting for the tension to dissolve so he can finally take a sip of his tea and Vision stands dutifully at your side, quiet and alert. 

Tony’s muscles are tense, posture rigid with every second that goes by. 

Her soft exhale and quiet steps break the silence. She cups his cheek, voice soft and caring, so unlike the words directed at you. “You are just like your parents, Tony. Kind  _ and _ foolish.” Her hand drops after a moment. “I will ask for Freyja’s and Lady Agatha’s help. Let Nick and Ramonda know. The more hands we have helping the better.”

He relaxes, albeit reluctant. “Thank you, Aunt Peggy.”

“Do not thank me, yet,” she says, adjusting her gloves. “I am still not convinced that keeping her so close to the University and the Council is such a wise decision.” She pauses in gathering her belongings. “The Council  _ will _ want to find where that surge of power came from, and there’s only so much we can do to keep them from finding it was from her.”

* * *

Tony’s eyes are on you, heavy and worried as you move around the destroyed greenhouse.

“If you’re just going to stand there, can you at least clean up the area around you?” you ask of him without turning to look at him, sweeping up the debris.

“Vision said he would clean—“

“I don’t care.”

He sighs. “Starlight.”

You ignore him, busily picking up the ripped flowers with their roots still attached—maybe these you can save, replant and—

A hand attaches itself to your wrists and tugs on you, not harshly but enough for you to drop the flowers back onto the ground where it flops lifelessly, followed by the call of your name. “Stop!” He repeats it, softly this time. “Please, Starlight.”

“I can’t.” You slowly turn to glance at him, eyes soft and pricking with tears. “I’ve destroyed what’s left of her, Tony.” It’s all your fault. “I’ve destroyed it.”

You’d spend hours here, hiding behind the plants, giggling as she swiveled her head here and there whenever you made noise. She always knew where you were, but she’d let you play with a big smile on her face, so loving and caring.

“Come’ere, my little blue bell,” she’d say in that soothing voice of hers, laughing when you’d pop out from behind the Dahlia’s with a sheepish smile. “I’m going to give myself a headache with all of this head turning.”

“Sorry, grandma.”

She’d scoot back into her wicker chair and set down her clippers and flowers on the long table in the middle of the room. “You’re all right, blue bell. Want to help me?”

“Can I?” you’d ask, sitting onto her lap, as if she’d say anything other than, “Of course.”

“I’ve destroyed her. I’ve destroyed everything she left behind,” you weep, eyes meeting his own distressed gaze—red-rimmed and glossy. “I miss her, Tony. I miss her so much.”

He pulls you to him and you cry into his chest.

He might not be saying anything, but his tight embrace, his warmth, and the wetness gathering on your shoulder speak volumes. He misses her too and he knows, no matter what he says to you, nothing will make you feel better. 

You’re both standing in uncharted waters without her.


	2. sapere aude

You don’t mean to dream of this place. You try to keep your mind focused on the darkness and falling asleep, but somehow your mind takes you back to the feeling of the warm rays of sun on your skin, of the rustling leaves crunching under your feet, of the beautiful blue eyes staring back at you before you’re pulled away.

You come back without meaning to.

It’s quiet. Peaceful almost without the darkness obscuring your view.

You take a deep breath as the thick leaves rustle gently with the wind; the sun’s warmth barely peeking through the swaying trees. It whips around you and you feel it nudge you forward, towards the narrow pathway with arched and twining trunks.

Leaves swirl on the pathway, being carried forward, an owl hoots, white and as pure as snow diving down from the top branches. It stops for a moment, suspended in the air as it’s beautiful eyes meet yours.

Wait, those blue eyes! 

“It’s you,” you manage to wheeze out.

It moves once more, following the leaves being carried forward with a gentle coo. Without much thought, your own feet move to follow it as you call out to it to wait.

The path is long, seemingly never ending, but completely beautiful. It’s all new to you, a sight you’ve never seen before, at least not around the house you’ve spent years exploring, you’re certain of it! And yet… there’s a tugging in your heart. A sense of longing and familiarity the longer you walk.

You’ve been here before… but how? 

The owl makes a sound again, and your eyes snap in its direction as the pathway opens up and the dirt road becomes a bridge as arched and twisted trees straighten out and become sparing. A slow bubbling greets your ear—a creek? A river? You hesitate before stepping out into the clearing.

“You’ve come back.” Your heart skips a beat, heartstrings pulled harshly and resounding loudly in your mind.

Your eyes snap in the direction of his voice and the wind whips around you, leaves and your hair blocking your view of him for a moment, as if giving you a moment to collect your thoughts.

The harsh wind reduces to a gentle caress of your cheeks; throat closing as the leaves that led you here, to _him_ , drift back and forth until they kiss the ground.

The owl is no longer with you, instead, there _he_ stands, tall and strong; wide, broad shoulders with golden tresses, strong jaw, pouty lips, and mischievous blue eyes staring back at you. There’s a warmth surrounding him, like the golden rays of the sun and it pulls you, tugging you gently into his force—his magic.

“You really came back,” he repeats, almost breathlessly as he takes a hesitant step forward.

Your feet don’t move, they stay in place as he grows closer—tendrils of magic caress yours, not pushing, not overpowering. _Touching._

But you do, you push, slapping away the warmth testingly. You’ve never felt anything like this before, the way your magic hangs in the air, cold and refreshing, almost like a night in the forest during a full moon. It courses through your veins, slipping through your fingertips.

He halts in his steps, eyes watching you with curiosity. He pushes back, a soft nudge, but he doesn’t do more than that. A smile curves at his pretty lips and a giddiness fills your heart. It’s familiar _this_ back and forth— _remnants of childish laughter fills the air, squeals of delight as warmth pushes you into the shallow waters of—_

Your blood freezes, heart dropping to your stomach and the control you had on your magic releases, dissipating like wisps of smoke into the air.

His eyes fill with sadness, smile dropping from his beautiful face and you have to force yourself to stand your ground, ignore the pull trying to wrap him in your arms. _Why_? _Why do you feel this way? Who is he?_

He takes another step forward, you take a step back.

“Who are you?” Your voice wavers and you curse yourself for not being able to keep calm

“Your memories,” he murmurs. “They're still locked.” He huffs, turning away from you for a moment.

“What do you mean by locked?”

“They did something. But what?” He ponders, not really listening to you.

“Who is _they_?” you ask, trying to sound demanding. “Who are _you_?”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Even now you’re wary of me.”

“Of course, I’m wary of you! I don’t know _who_ you are! Or why you’re here—“

“Steve,” he says. “But you once used to call me… well, it doesn’t matter.”

His name rolls from your tongue with ease as if you’ve said it many times before and his smile widens. “I’m—“

He says your name with such fondness that it softens you, and your heart squeezes.

“How do you—“ He only smiles and you sigh. “Right. You know me. Tell me something, Steve.” He hums, waiting patiently for your question. “How are you here?”

“We’re connected,” he says it so matter of factly, like there is no other truth, but this. “We have been since we were children.” Your eyebrows pinch and he offers you his hand. What in Maker’s name is he talking about? “Come. Let me show you something.”

You hesitate, hand hovering over his own. He doesn’t push you to take it, allowing you to seemingly make up your own mind. But before you can even think it through, you take his hand in yours.

Warmth envelops your hand, childish laughter once forgotten reaching your ears once more. It’s a fading, fleeting sound, a barely visible image of a flower meadow, a name barely said—and you gasp it out, “Stevie.”

He falters for a moment, hand falling just an inch as those blue eyes take you in, and you can’t help but stare back, unsure of where that nickname came from. A memory—a missing piece—of a name, of a boy, long since forgotten and trying to resurface. It bursts open with a flash, an empty space that you can’t fill. 

You flinch away from him when he tries to hold your hand again, but you don’t register him or the touch, you focus on that empty space that you try desperately to cover and uncover—figure out _why_ it’s there. It feels familiar and yet, _wrong_. As if it shouldn’t be there, but as if it’s _always_ been there.

It makes no sense to you. You have never felt as if a part of you was missing, not until your grandmother passed away. But that was a different feeling of emptiness—a loss. This feels as if there are pieces of your memory and mind missing. A strange hollowness that you can’t quite explain. 

“Is that what I used to call you?” You can’t help but ask, and watch as sadness returns to his eyes. You hadn’t remembered him. Not like he wanted.

“Yes,” he says with a barely concealed breath.

You want to ask him about everything, about your memories, about why he keeps saying they’re locked, why _you’re_ here, why _he’s_ here— _everything._ But you can’t bring yourself to ask him any of those, not when he’s hurt by your forgotten memories, not when you’re just so confused.

“Will you come with me?” He asks again, completely disregarding your earlier conversation, offering his hand once more with a hint of hesitation—a fear of rejection

“Yes,” you readily agree, breathless and confused as you take his offered hand once more.

He smiles, all crooked and boyish, a contrast to the tall, broad mass he has become. There was a time when he was tiny, barely your height and thin. So thin that you were afraid he’d snap—

He calls your name gently, eyebrows creased and you realize you’ve stopped, your hand still in his and holding him in place.

You don’t dare give him false hope. “Sorry, I—it just, all of this _feels_ familiar and I don’t—I don’t know why.”

He smiles, gentle like the warmth of his magic, so unlike the one trying to intrude into your thoughts. “That feeling will only grow, I hope.” He tugs you with him, away from the path you took to get here. He leads you down the creek, following the bank.

He looks back at you, blue eyes glowing with the noon sun, beautiful and kind, curious and all knowing. “Close your eyes,” he tells you softly.

Your eyes flutter close without much prompting and he chuckles. Heat crawls up your neck as you open one eye to find him smiling down at you. “You said to close my eyes!”

“I know.” The hand that isn’t holding yours lifts to your cheek, warm fingers press against your skin, caressing the curve of your cheek bone down to your jaw. “Close them, my moon.”

 _My moon_ , the endearment punches you harshly, affection blossoming from deep within you as the wind swirls around you, whispering words you can’t make out—thick and ancient.

His hand on your neck travels down your arm, barely touching you, just hovering and tracing a path to your hands. He steps forward, the front of his feet hitting yours gently and his forehead landing on yours with a timid ‘thud.’ You almost open your eyes, but his voice stops you—“Almost there, keep them closed for a moment longer.”

An owl hoots overhead, and you wonder if it’s the same owl— _your_ owl. The whispering of the wind gets louder and the rustling leaves restless, the babbling creek rushes, it overwhelms you, the way the wind slivers down your throat and fills your lungs and how the water fills your ears. You exhale and Steve holds you, wraps his arms around you and keeps you pressed against him, your face hidden in the crook of his neck.

His warmth surrounds you, pushes at your cool tendrils, encasing it around you and then—

Silence.

He slowly untangles himself from you and his voice meets your eyes, soft and warm, “Open them.”

And you do.

Steve stands in front of you, blue eyes glowing warm like the kindle and hearth of your fireplace. And he smiles, smiles as bright as the sun—and the breath is stolen from your lungs when he moves to stand by your side.

The rays of sun shimmer through the tall, thin trees and you can’t help but gasp. “What?” It comes out like a torn whisper as you watch the glowing creatures around you move. They sing like bells, flying over the tall flowers and grass. “What are they?”

“Pixies,” he answers, his voice low and soft. 

“Pixies?” You ask, louder than you intend to, and the tinkling gets louder, agitated almost and Steve brings a finger to his lips. 

“They’re working right now. We have to be quiet.”

“What is it they’re doing?”

“Collecting nectar and pollen for their families.”

“Are they usually so hardworking?” You've read pixies are mischievous little creatures, taking after the Fae of the Winter Court, though not as malicious. You also read they went extinct during the battle of the Courts.

Steve snorts and shakes his head, apologizing when the chiming gets exasperated and loud. “No, they love to fool around. But they know the faster they get done here—“

“The faster they can play,” you finish for him and he beams, nodding. A ball of light flies towards you and it circles you, pulling at the hem of your clothes before diving down by your feet into the flowers. “Oh!”

It flies out of the flowers, pollen bursting into the air and back up to your face, and for a moment you catch a glimpse of yellow skin and beautiful wings that reminds you of monarch butterflies.

“They’re fast little things, aren’t they?” He chuckles when the same pixie hovers in front of him before flying off back to where most of them are gathered. “Sprites tend to work slower, more thoroughly.”

Sprites? First Pixies and now sprites? “I thought—I thought they were only a myth?”

“Obviously not,” he says, a cheeky smile on his face as he watches you take in the sight before you. “You used to love them. They love you too.”

“That's impossible—“

“Nothing is impossible, my moon.” He cups your face in his large hands, fingers brushing your ear. “Not here. Not with us.”

“Steve…”

You can’t even begin to comprehend the emotions flitting across his face—despondent, forlorn, pained—all melting into each other and hard to distinguish. “We used to come here when we were younger. We’d visit the pixies during the day and the sprites during the night,” he explains gently and kind, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “Do you remember?”

You want to. You want to desperately remember. Remember _this_ ; remember _him_ , but you can’t. You feel it, that emptiness as you try to push it forward, try to unravel it and pull it apart to make it show itself to you. But it’s not there. It’s just _gone._

“No.”

His breath stills and you refuse to meet his gaze, afraid of what you’ll see in them. He looks at you with so much familiarity, so much happiness and kindness, and now, now he’ll stare at you with betrayal, confusion, _hurt_. And you don’t want that. You don’t want to see him hurt. You don’t want to be the reason he’s hurt. 

But you are.

“I see.” He breathes out and lets you go, taking a step away. “I’m sorry.”

Your eyes snap to meet his—his gaze guarded, protected, _dim_ , but his voice cracks and it flows with emotions that he can’t seem to stop. And everything around you shifts, distorts dizzyingly.

“I should’ve held onto you back then,” he says solemnly. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

“You had to,” you vomit the words out of nowhere. “I couldn’t stay.” You don’t know where they came from or why you said them, but they feel true. It confuses you.

His eyes are wide and his fingers twitch by his side, the tinkling bells grow louder and the world around you twists and turns as the ground beneath you stays still. And you know you’re being pulled back again, back to your world—no. This time it’s not you.

Someone calls for him, a voice different than his own, fuller, darker. “Is that you, punk? I _feel_ you, but I can’t see you, why are you—“

Steve reaches for you, but his fingers only grasp at the darkness around you, missing your own fingertips that crave to touch him, the still earth beginning to split apart.

“Will I see you again?” you can’t help but ask, rushed.

“Yes,” he answers just as frantic, blue eyes narrowing with tenderness. “Just think of me and I shall appear.” 

It shatters and you fall back, slipping into the darkness as you close your eyes, glittering dust blowing around you.

“Always.”

* * *

The world brightens with your fluttering eyes, glittering dust and morning light filtering through your open curtains. 

Slowly lifting yourself up, your eyes sweep your aglow room just as the door opens, revealing Viz carrying a tray of his morning tea.

He smiles tentatively at you, still wary of his smile being unnatural and unwelcoming. “Good morning, Miss.”

You’re home.

“Miss?”

But why does it not feel like it anymore?

* * *

Tony doesn’t understand, not completely.

He knew of Prim’s wariness, her worry for when it came time for you to ascend, but he hadn’t known _why_. Not completely. He knew Prim and his father had journals detailing their research, their findings, but except for the one in Peggy’s care—and now his—they are all but lost.

Did they hide them away? Did his mother throw them out? No, she wouldn’t do that. Not if it would jeopardize you.

He reads over and over the journal outlining the day of your birth, how the moon went black and the lights flickered as the continent shook violently. His father even wrote the time accordingly, wrote every single equation he could think of to explain the phenomenons, but the only conclusive thing was the time of your birth—the witching hour. 

It wasn’t a rare thing for a child to be born during the witching hour, many children are born during this time. It is celebrated by many that follow the traditions of the early witches—the children of the fae. But this night, this particular night, it was different.

He remembers it— _vaguely_. The screams Prim let out as she pushed, how he curled into his body as he sat outside of her room, afraid for her and her unborn child. The ward had crackled all around them as the Odinson family helped Fury, his father and Aunt Peggy keep the ward up and strong; electricity and coldness lingering in the air like dust particles on a sunny day. He faintly heard his mother’s encouraging coos and Freyja’s leveled voice asking her to push and then—and then between all the noise and all the chaos, he heard it clear as day—a shrieking wail of a baby. 

It had all stilled then. The ground steadied underneath him, the thunder hushed, and the rain caressed the ward with gentle splatters.

And when he looked out the large window at the end of the hallway, the moon was high and bright, the eclipse gone without a trace, and the stars shining like never before.

His mother used to say you were a child born blessed by the goddesses of the old days. “Lady Diana and Lady Hekate, must be visiting our little one, tonight,” she’d say when she would hear the incessant babbling from your nursery. “She’s a special one, our little star.”

You were always a curious child, even as a tiny infant—cooing and awing when something caught your eye. But the stars—you loved the stars. He’d often catch you staring out the window, even when you lay in your crib, babbling away to the stars that were too far from your reach.

Now he wonders how true that statement could be.

The force in which your magic released was stronger than any other ascension. Whatever you did in that release, whatever you _called_ upon, is new to both of you. 

The only sure thing is that your ascension snapped something within you, something strong and unimaginable, and he doesn’t know what it could possibly mean for you and that? That possibility that it could put you in danger instead of help you, like he first intended, absolutely terrifies him.

**Author's Note:**

> posted this on tumblr yesterday and completely forgot to post it on here! &&if you're reading some sugar and wondering whether that is abandoned, it is not! I will go back to it, I'm just in a funk right now


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